


Flying is Merely Falling with Style

by extremisitis (reveriewit)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reveriewit/pseuds/extremisitis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Director Fury suggests that given the potential trauma as a result of the events of Manhattan, it would be beneficial if members of the Avengers Initiative partake in SHIELD’s counselling scheme. Much to everyone’s chagrin, one of the stages includes utilising the time in which Loki has left on Midgard within their custody to speak with him in regards to how his actions have affected them. It’s now Tony Stark’s turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flying is Merely Falling with Style

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melonbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/gifts).



> A gift for melonbutterfly/flylittlekoala for the Frostiron Fest. This is in fact the first fic I've posted on AO3. I wanted to do a lot more with this but due to things being so busy over the holidays I had to limit myself - I might do a follow up to this at some point. Anyway, enjoy~

“3am, the twilight hour – that’s when it first happened.” Stern eyes focused on the glass tumbler in hand between frequent gestures, the fast melting ice amalgamating with the bronzed hue of the scotch; taking a large sip to calm himself, letting the cool liquid wash over his tongue and pleasantly burn its way down his throat, Tony turned towards the surveillance camera in the ceiling corner with a quizzical expression. “God, remind me why we’re doing this again? I mean, I can pay a shrink hundreds of dollars an hour to listen to me harp on but why do I have to do it in front of  _him_? The guy practically threw me out of a window.” An accusing pointed finger extended towards the bright sheen of the ceiling-to-floor protective glass, met with a quirked eyebrow followed by a smirk from the pale visage of the trickster, and yet the question was greeted with silence from the out of sight omnipresent surveying team. As the bearded man continued to pace intermittently within the small room while gathering his thoughts, Loki was quietly seated on a metal chair bolted to the ground on the other side, one leg neatly crossed over the other with hands placed upon them as the swathes of dark leather that he adorned cascaded around his form.

“Believe me, Stark. This is not how I envisaged my Friday night.” The God had grown weary with each and every individual that ventured through that sullen door, accusing eyes and proud judgement alike left him entirely unscathed…but it was this mere mortal’s defiance that caused for Loki’s once calm tone to dramatically shift with his lip curling into a feral snarl as he rasped, “if I had had my way, yours would be one of the first skulls I would have crushed within my bare palms upon ruling this Hel forsaken realm!” Menacingly leaning forwards from the seat with the backdrop of silver hexagonal formations to effectively reduce the outcome of his magic littering the wall behind him, the God of Mischief pursed his lips as he gazed upon the remnants of the small shadow of a man; to think that such a desolate looking creature who supposedly had everything but amounted to nothing in his eyes had been part of the scheme that bested him was enough to make his stomach violently churn.

“Bring it.” Gritting his teeth with frustration in regards to the lack of choice in mediocre company, the fact that his scotch pilfered from Maria Hill’s office (no doubt for stressful occasions where Fury’s rash decisions would drive her up the wall) was lacklustre at best, and to the entire imposing situation in general, Tony inched his way closer to the glass his heated breath swirling forwards causing for a narrow section of the glazed surface to grow misty. “Just give me an excuse and I swear to God, I’ll fucking end you. We’re not talking a few cuts and bruises here and there from some Hulk smashing.” Strong and dexterous fingers curled around his hip as he continued, “I’m talking serious damage where you’ll wish you hadn’t crawled outta whatever intergalactic chasm that led you to Earth. You think you know pain?” The other involuntarily flinched with the echoed words that seemed to be following the liesmith wherever he dared to venture, a reminder of his catastrophic failure and potential comeuppance. “Not until I’m done with you, buddy.” And the billionaire meant it. This wasn’t one of his countless momentary tantrums or empty threats that would fade into the background with a quick roll of his eyes followed by a new expensive and/or technical distraction to occupy his limited time; after the events of Manhattan he was incredibly on edge and the other could see this, much to the trickster’s growing raptured delight.

“Oh, I’d certainly enjoy observing your endeavours to do so,” Loki goaded rising from the seat to tower over the man behind the glint of mischievous emerald eyes, a playful finger tracing over the heated glass that separated them to form an intricate and surprisingly beautiful formation of ice that frosted over the area. “Apologies for my wandering attentiveness…well, let’s be honest – I care not,” an amused snigger, “but if I remember correctly, you very nearly perished during our last encounter if it weren’t for that infernal burdensome contraption you insist on encompassing yourself with.” Staring the inventor down with a pleased grin twitching onto his lips as the mortal lowered his discouraged eyes, Loki couldn’t help but sense that he had stricken a nerve, relishing the visible unease that radiated from the other. Biting down hard on his cheek, Tony gulped down the remainder of the glass’s contents and propped it down onto the floor out of the way. As much as the man hated to admit it, the liesmith was right; nothing was the same since New York, priorities and fears were shifting left, right and centre and he was increasingly struggling to placate them or control their direction. Their argument was inevitable and the engineer was beginning to wonder how the rest of his team had handled their own so-called “sessions”. Everyone had had it bad over those trying 48 hours but he couldn’t comprehend what happened when Barton came face to face with the smug bastard after the sick mental strain and burden that was imposed upon him. Knowing all too well that despite his insistence SHIELD wouldn’t let him out of the room until he made a considerable effort to talk, even though the idea of it was incredibly repellent and on the verge of coerced masochism.

The room was growing stuffy, warming up due to the additional movement that the men were making with the animated conversation; usually the Jotunn would have made a quick flourish of his wrist in order to manipulate his environment, unfortunately much to his dismay the clever decors of the room was obscuring such tricks. After having previously requested semi politely (read: threatened the lives of the men in the building but not the women) for his surrounding temperature to be regulated to his liking, Loki decided that he had had enough. Shrugging off the outer layer of leather that rested over his shoulders, the prisoner attentively began undoing some of the numerous fastenings around the central section of his ensemble, detaching a few segments at a time and placing them onto the chair to reveal sheer green fabric beneath. The industrialist watched on, bemused by the surprising jigsaw puzzle of clothing that was carefully being prised apart; a shake of his head indicated that he would never understand why Asgardians bothered to put themselves though such lengthy rituals with such problematic clothing. Catching the other’s watchful eye, the God gave an appreciative sigh with the much welcomed decrease in temperature but was quick to playfully assert, “do not get too excited. This is not a performance aimed to satisfy your voyeurism, Stark." Pacing a little and flicking his sight up to the camera near the sealed door of his own partition of the room, Loki stretched with feline-esque prowess as he enjoyed the reduced weight and warmth upon his form, contemplating whether he should risk cranking things up a notch and completely relax… While the trickster made no sudden movements, the gradual change in his appearance didn’t go unnoticed by the inventor; an initial double-take was required and yet the man couldn’t stop himself from staring with unblinking eyes once he caught onto the slow transition. It started with the eyes – those piercing green orbs gradually transforming into the glazed and reddened colour that numerous generations of children of Asgard grew to fear from bedtime stories of old. The icy blue hue progressively crawled over his flesh like a fever from his visage down to his neck and then appendages, the intricate markings soon following as they indicated of the gravitas of the Jotunn’s perplexing ancestry. “Problem?” he queried as the awestricken man used every fibre of his being to refrain from saying something along the lines of  _’what in the hell are you?’_  and  _’does Thor Smurf-out too?’_

“The twilight hour,” the inventor repeated returning to his previous train of thought before the disagreement had ensued, in a bid to ignore what had occurred with the other’s form despite his analytical nature; he physically retraced his steps to ground his stance at its original locus upon his initial entry in the room. Quite frankly he didn’t care if Loki was listening or not, and for that matter SHIELD either, but he would at least attempt to be the bigger man and do his damned best to talk his way out of the room that was bordering on claustrophobic. Luckily for him, the Jotunn remained silent, critically considering whether Tony was utilising an unseen angle to irritate him further to conclude in yet another battle of words. “Dad used to hammer on about how nothing good ever happened after three, regardless of whichever timezone you were in. Usually, I’d disagree with the old man as some of my best work has taken place in the late night early morning niche – algorithms cracked and encapsulated, new suits designed and enhanced, mainframes calibrated to perfection, RT tinkered with…” the last comment was followed by a swift tap of his nail to the centre of his chest. The soft clink of metal evidently sparked a glimmer of intrigue from the raven haired man whose inquisitive crimson eyes trailed over the hidden device that thwarted his attempts of mind control not so long ago, examining the light exuding from the dark layers of clothing that he had initially assumed was a reflection cast from the glass between them. “Despite the Black Ivory coffee and Kopi Luwak espresso coursing through my system, synapses firing off like crazy against a heavy drowning of caffeine, I musta dozed off at some point while in my workshop.” The bearded man paused as his eyes lingered upwards to the darkened tiled ceiling, his gaze traipsing a faint path in which a spectator would have witnessed had they been present during the oncoming dream. “The next thing I remember, I’m falling. And I don’t stop. An endless cycle that seems to go on for eternity but this time around, there’s no one there to catch me…” Sharply closing his eyes, the man inhaled deeply, the sound of his own quickening heartbeat pounding in his ears as a considerable amount of tension began rising up his chest, crawling over his skin and rolling up over his face, minute hairs standing on end as his flesh shuddered trying to recoil from itself. If Tony could rip off the immediate layer to cease the perturbing sensation of resonance that rippled over, he would.

Loki curiously tilted his head in what an onlooker would have mistaken for mild concern but was in fact contemplation, recalling how events had taken place in the conclusion of his attempted invasion; he was somewhat aware of the missile that spelled the downfall of his extra-terrestrial army being carried through the portal by the metal suited hero. However, further details had been encumbered due to the presence of an incredibly severe headache at the time – after all, it wasn’t every day you found yourself at the hands of a thoughtless beast whose lack of respect and idea of entertainment was to repeatedly plough you into concrete. That analytical fast paced mind put two and two together. “Frightening, isn’t it?” The smile on the liesmith’s face gradually diminished coupled with a faraway gaze forming as he recollected the fateful day upon the transcendentally beautiful Bifrost where he had let go of both Thor and, to some extent, his arduous connection with Asgard that simultaneously hindered and spurred him on. Crossing his arms before him the trickster momentarily stared up towards the heavens, the imagery of the looming darkness that had shrouded him during his own fall had very much become a part of his actuality. “To be enveloped by stars whose brightness mask the remote nature of the eternal cosmos, the insignificance of one’s existence truly becoming apparent. To experience the weightless sensation that carries you within a palpable yet inconspicuous tide against one’s will or better judgement to unexplored depths of one’s disposition. To feel an overwhelming degree of helplessness as one further descends, distancing oneself from the notions of familiarity that were once loved…”

Swallowing hard the icy skinned man took a deep breath as he tried but failed to shrug off the sinking sentiment, eyes anxiously darting from side to side. “Yeah. Something like that,” Tony replied as their gaze briefly met, encouraging a rare moment of mutual understanding that neither of them had anticipated accompanied by a sly joint simper as they each contemplated that perhaps they had each misjudged the other ever so slightly. An odd spark of electricity flowed between the mortal and the Jotunn, passing between the cores of the two as, for once, they considered how they may progress and delve further with the conversation.

“I would have thought you would have grown used to the sensation of falling,” Loki smirked to Tony’s now confused furrowed brow, “after all, flying is merely falling with style.”

The inventor opened and closed his mouth as a retort bubbled up to the surface, raised eyebrows punctuating his surprise. “Did you just quote Toy Story? Really? God of Mischief and Chaos who blows shit up for kicks and giggles watches Pixar movies. Who’d have thought.” The laughter that was shared between the two was light hearted and genuine, a much needed seque from the tense situation they both found themselves forced into. The hero continued with a casual shrug and a quirked eyebrow, “believe me, I’ve had my fair share of falls. The first few weeks of development of my suits, it’s practically all I did day after day.”

“If flight presents such hazards, why do you persist? Surely the helplessness that imbues from such perils is enough to dissuade you.” Granted the Jotunn had made a fair point but Tony couldn't begin explaining the multiple levels of responsibility that outweighed the risks, the concept of choice not being a part of the equation as doing the right thing had utmost precedence over one's own tribulations. The mortal instead opted to run a hand through his dark well-coiffed hair, arm poised as he gave the back of his stiff neck a delicate squeeze.

"I'd rather run the risk of being helpless than choose not to do anything at all. Besides, it's not really the helplessness that worries me. I've been in some really tight situations. I mean, I'd rather end up being a vegetable so long as my mind was still intact. In a world where information is paramount for any sorta growth and progression, I'd sooner die than not be able to successfully parse it all. The last thing I'd want to be is...ordinary."  The Jotunn grimaced, not entirely agreeing with the other's train of thought; while he grew frustrated with the momentary lack of magic having grown accustomed to a certain way of living, Loki would never want to have his form weakened or bound even metaphorically. As it was, he had already spent a gut wrenchingly obscene amount of time tied down with the venom of a serpent threatening his vision imposed upon him as part of a punishment that he felt he hadn’t warranted - he had absolutely no intention of ever putting up with similar circumstances ever again. "Did it hurt?” That was the least of his worries as the industrialist questioned, “when you fell outta wherever the hell you fell from?" A considerable interlude and an uncomfortable wince. "Boy, that sounds like a God awful pickup line, doesn't it?"

The liesmith managed a smile as he teased in response, "if you wish to court me, I must say that the commute would be considerable even for you and your suits." Tony playfully pouted with a hum of disappointment, the light hearted nature masking a hint of genuine disconcertment wriggling through. "Pain is subjective. What you may deem to be horrific, I may perceive as being inconsequential." A pause as the God hid a negligible yet poignant sharp intake of breath, looking back on the memory of jagged edges of the barren rock he had found himself upon at the conclusion of his descent from Asgard, the unfamiliar bestial beings that cruelly hounded him during moments in which much needed peace and quiet was required to contemplate his next actions. "But aye, it did. I have faced many an occasion in which I have been wronged, abandoned even by those whom I foolishly trusted most. I must say that such times bring about the most painful sensation of all, far eclipsing that of physical abrasions." The naturally moistened eyes were met with a compassionate look from the philanthropist, firm fingers running through Tony’s hair once again as he realised that everyone had a story to tell coupled with issues galore no matter how messed up others perceived them to be. Gazes that had once been occupied with one another soon perked up to follow a deep thud sounding against the door on the industrialist's side, breaking their cocooned cohabited silence. An agent peered through a small gap meekly informing, “time’s up, Mr Stark.” A collective sigh was shared between the two on either side of the glass with the overwhelming feeling that they had only just gotten into the session.

“Time flies." Loki neared himself towards the clear surface that separated them once again, his cold reflection equally as despondent as the imprisoned man himself. Despite knowing all too well that the Odinson (who had yet to visit him upon his custody the second time around due to the sheer desolation of his brother's actions) would be taking him back to Asgard to face his punishment for mass crimes against humanity, he softly mused, "same time next week?"

The billionaire who was ambling towards the door halted, his hand perched along the sharp edge as he turned back with his wrinkled forehead resting on the back of his palm. “Yeah. Right. Text me a reminder and I’ll just hitch a ride on Goldilocks’ cape.”

“Don’t be so sure, Anthony. I may pay you a visit myself.” It had been a really long time since a chill ran through the genius’s spine from hearing his own name uttered from such problematic lips…and he wouldn’t deny that he quite liked it.


End file.
